


(Not) A Thing of Beauty - Revised

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 18:53:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15914223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: It wasn't particularly attractive; some might call it ugly, even.  Just what was it about that museum piece that drew them so?  One thing was for sure; touching magical objects just doesn't turn out well.   A mission to retrieve a piece of film hidden inside that museum in Prague has unforseen repercussions for Garrison's team.





	(Not) A Thing of Beauty - Revised

**Author's Note:**

> At the urging of a reader, I have expanded this story, which takes place prior to the story 'It's All Casino's Fault!'

Chief:  
It was just a bracelet, well, a man's wrist cuff, actually. Chief found his eye drawn to it again and again, which he couldn't understand. Usually it was Goniff who had the urge to 'snaffle' some little object, not Chief. Still, that case in the museum, the glass case filled with what were labeled 'Etruscan Artifacts', he found himself coming back time after time to look at it. He shook himself, resolutely; that wasn't what they were there for. The film was in one of next rooms, supposedly, and Garrison and the others occupied with searching for it. And what the hell was he doing over by that case in the first place?; he was supposed to be across the room, keeping a lookout for the guards. 

Garrison and the team gathered from the various directions, Garrison's face showing a grim sort of satisfaction that told Chief he'd found what they were looking for. "Anything?" their leader whispered, and Chief shook his head, his face expressionless. Well, there wasn't anything, not anything Garrison was asking about. His strange urge to open that case, remove the wide cuff made of some dull metal and ornamented, if you wanted to call it that, by the matching braids of some coarse material, maybe horsehair, THAT wasn't relative to their mission, wasn't important. He told himself that all the way back, refraining from touching the front of his shirt, where that compelling item lay hidden away. 

Once back at the Mansion, he took it out, examined it anytime he was alone; it pulled him, tugged at his spirit. Somehow it both attracted him and repelled him, even seemed to whisper to him sometimes. Three days after their return, he was put to hand to hand training with Actor, and somehow it all went awry, with Actor ending up with a badly sprained wrist and a couple of cracked ribs. While Garrison hadn't yelled, since accidents happen sometimes when you are practicing such things, still the incident brought Chief to a rapid decision. There, in the middle of the match, he'd found himself WANTING to hurt Actor, to see pain flash through those brown eyes, across that aristocratic face.

{"Serves him right, thinkin he's so much better than I am, freakin asshole!"}.

Laying in his bunk that night, the faintly remembered teachings of the shamans on the reservation returned to him, about objects of power. Sitting up silently on the edge, he pulled it out, and now, it seemed the sooner he set it aside, stopped letting it touch his skin, the better. He got up, slide it behind a row of books on the bookcase Actor had had moved in from the Common Room. His palms felt slimy, like they had been dipped in oil of some foul nature, and he slipped out of the room to scrub them in the sink down the hall. He knew he had to get rid of that thing, permanently, but there was no time now; they were due to leave for London first thing, then for parts unknown. He'd take care of it when they got back. By the time they were halfway along on their journey, the thought eased out of his memory, as if the distance from the object reduced, then eliminated all recollection of what he'd experienced.

Actor:  
Actor was reaching for the current volume of Shakespeare he'd been reading before their last mission when he felt the whispery trace of SOMETHING, calling him to reach down behind the books, to search for the source. He examined the wide cuff, puzzled, and although he thought it amazingly ugly, slid it around his wrist, up under the sleeve of his tunic, out of sight. It felt good there, somehow, and a slow smile came to his face. It was HIS, it belonged to him, and it promised great and wonderful things for his future. All he had to do was follow its lead, eliminate anything that could possibly derail his destiny.

It was the safecracker, Casino, who would prove to be the problem; Actor was sure of it. After all, the man kept complaining about the missions, kept trying to get Garrison to be more cautious. Inside Actor seethed. There were opportunities out there; wonderful opportunities waiting to be exploited, but urging their leader to steer clear of the more dangerous ones was impeding what Actor now saw as his own private mission. That last one, for example. That second safe had wonderful things, he just knew it, could feel it. But when Actor had urged cracking that one as well as the first, the one that contained those documents Garrison was after, Casino had protested, talking about 'time', and 'those guards are due back any minute, Warden!', and Garrison had listened! If Casino had wondered at the occasional black looks he was getting from Actor on the trip back, he didn't say anything; hell, the man had been acting all broody for the past few days. 

The next trip out, it was with a substitute safecracker, one borrowed from one of the other teams.

"Well, of course, it wasn't intentional, Craig! I slipped on the obstacle course, that is all. It is all most unfortunate, of course, but you must know I would never injure one of our team on purpose!" It was most convincing, and really, no one really believed any differently.

Of course, they might have, had they seen the grimly satisfied smile on the tall Italian's face in the wake of Dr. Riley's pronouncement, "he's twisted that knee quite thoroughly, Lieutenant; I'd say he's out of commission for awhile."

It was with considerable reluctance Actor left the cuff behind on that next mission; with so many different costume changes being required, the chance of it being spotted were just too great. He knew it was vitally important that it remain his secret. He looked around the Library carefully, then tucked the cuff deep beneath the cushions of his usual chair. It should be safe there.

It was just before they received the call to be prepared to parachute into France that he saw the events on the obstacle course flash through his mind. If Garrison and the others wondered at the look of sheer horror on Actor's face, they may have attributed it to that third streak of lightning that lit up the night sky. Frankly, that lightning wasn't nearly as terrifying as knowing he HAD injured Casino on purpose, with his only disappointment being the lack of permanent damage.

As he watched Goniff lose his lunch immediately after the rocky landing, the only wonder was that he didn't follow suit. He took the opportunity to scrub his hands in the tall grasses before they headed out, trying to get the oily film off. Now, as the faint memory of that bracelet came back to him, {"such an ugly thing, really,"} he struggled to make sense of it; soon, even those faint traces were gone, and he could only wonder at himself, his actions.

Casino:  
Yeah, he knew it'd been an accident, but he was still a little pissed. Not enough to provoke a quarrel, especially with the team headed back out, but enough he wanted to get a little of his own back. So, it WAS petty, hobbling into the Library and settling himself into Actor's favorite chair, pouring himself a glass from the bottle he had found in the Italian's private hidden stash. Petty, childish, yes - but damn it felt good! Still, he gave a satisfied chuckle, knowing how irritated the man would be if he could have seen Casino ensconced in that chair, enjoying that fine cognac. Lighting up a cigarette, he toyed with the idea of 'accidentally' burning a hole in the upholstery, but decided against it. {"That'd piss off the Warden as much if not more than Beautiful."}

He shifted on the deep seat, then, rose, fishing behind, then under the cushion, coming up with a wide metal cuff. Frowning, he looked at it one way, then another, then, with a shrug, slipped it over his wrist. He found it remarkably satisfying, especially since he just knew it was a piece Actor had hidden away. "Probably lifted it somewhere and hid it, instead of putting it the 'pot', arrogant bastard!"

Somehow, that seemed a good way to get even, taking that piece of ornamentation their con man had valued so much as to hide from the others. "Yeah, can't wait to see his face when he finds it missing!" he chuckled. He reached over for the book Actor had been reading, scoffed at the high-sounding title, and got up to get one of the Western novels of Zane Grey. {"Yeah, that's more like it,"} he thought, feeling the weight of that metal piece around his wrist. He read late into the night; with the blackout blinds pulled, the Sergeant Major had offered only a mild scolding, then left him. He kept the cuff on, sometimes rubbing his fingers across the coarse braids.

{"Mine, all mine! Have to watch the little Limey when he gets back though! Be just like him to think he can have it. Well, just let him try! I'll teach him! Bout time someone taught the little bastard a lesson anyway; might as well be me!"} 

They returned, safe and sound, mission a rousing success, to find Casino moving around much better. Garrison had sighed a deep sigh of relief. Lately it seemed everytime he turned around, he had one of the team out of commission for some reason or another. "Looks like we've passed through that spell of bad luck," he told Gil Rawlins.

The following morning, when Goniff took a header down the staircase, luckily not reaping too much damage other than some deep bruises and a laceration along his jaw, the young officer thought he might have spoken too soon. Casino had stood at the top, slack-jawed, watching as the wiry Englishman made the descent the hard and fast way. He started to rush down to lend assistance to Garrison, who was trying to check for injuries, then paused, and had the sudden notion to take off that cuff. Looking around, he reached up and slid the metal bracelet onto the ledge over the Common Room door. Hastening down the stairs, he wiped his palms over the side of his trousers, trying to get rid of the feeling of cobwebs covering them.

Goniff:  
It had been a good mission, he and the others had come back hale and hearty, then he'd somehow missed his footing on the stairs. {"Coulda broken my ruddy neck!"} he grumbled to himself. He'd almost thought he could feel someone joustling him, there at the top, but there'd been no one other than Casino, and they were friends; if Casino HAD bumped him, causing him to fall, he'd have said something, said 'sorry' at least. No, just his usual clumsiness, he was sure.

Afterwards, after he'd gotten over the shock, had that cut bandaged, he'd been restless, finding himself poking into odd places as if searching for something. Finally, he narrowed it down to that overhang above the Common Room door, and climbing up, had retrieved a surprisingly attractive item. No, it wasn't glittery or shiny, not something he'd usually find tempting, but somehow, it called to him, spoke to his innermost being, and he found himself tucking it away close to his skin, relishing the feeling of power it offered him. He couldn't wait to show Meghada! Then, as quickly as that thought came to him, something urged caution, told him, 'no, better not'. He wondered at that; he didn't keep many secrets from her - well, lots out of his past, but very little from the here and now.

He was at the Cottage, hopefully watching her pull supplies from the pantry for their meal, chattering away to her, and he thought he caught a glimpse of a mocking, almost contemptuous smile as she turned her head and he lost it. Something grabbed at him, taunted him, twisted what he was feeling away from affection toward rage at the disdain she'd dared to show him. {"Just who the ruddy 'ell does the uppity bitch think she is, anyway??!"} The snarl was impressive "you find me amusing, woman??!". That the wording, the tone was totally unlike him did not seem to register with Goniff. He moved toward her, hands clinching into fists, bitter anger on his face.

She turned back towards him at his harsh words, shocked at the look on his face. She perhaps should have been hurt, perhaps insulted, perhaps afraid, who knows what she should have been. It didn't matter what she SHOULD have been; she was the Dragon, she was his, and he was hers, and that was all that mattered, to her, and ultimately, to him. She searched his face, looking into those familiar, yet unfamiliar eyes, searching for what lay beneath, and suddenly the shimmering that had distorted her features cleared, and he only saw his 'Gaida once more, and his eyes widened in shock. She tried to pointpoint that flicker of SOMETHING that wasn't quite right. Her face was solemn now, a little sad, but with more love behind it than should have been possible - "I find you a great many things, acushla. . . . . ".

That he was shaken by what had just transpired was unmistakeable, even more so as her gaze swept him up and down, then focused on his right hand. He stood unmoving as she slid his shirt sleeve upward and saw the bracelet. Her face held stern anger now, though he could feel the anger was not at him; "and just where did you come by that, laddie?" And he told her, and without protest let her remove it, laying it aside on a wide dish; watched in bewilderment as she poured salt over it to the point of covering it totally.

'Gaida, I . . ." he gulped, realizing he'd truly intended to hurt her; no, intended to beat her to a bloody pulp, had relished the thought even.

"Tsha, laddie. Twas not you just then. I know that. Come, scrub your hands, your wrist; rid yourself of the stench of that thing," motioning him to the sink. And while he doubted her words, still he truly couldn't see himself in what almost happened. That he was capable of violence, he knew that quite well; he just had never seen the possibility of him causing harm to HER. The only consolation was that he knew she could have defended herself against him, though it wasn't much of a comfort.

She then told him of what he'd worn, what she could sense of it. And in her arms, in her words, he found his redemption, his solace, and if he didn't understand more than a little of what she'd told him, well, that was alright. Some things maybe he didn't have to understand. That was his last thought before he fell asleep in her arms. 

The thing, the being off in the shadows that had tried to possess him snarled at her in outrage at being thwarted, fury at being contained as it was, and she hissed back in response, in warning, and it retreated, perhaps not defeated, but kept at bay for the time being, and they were left alone, together, the two of them. She awoke, frequently, slipping away to be sure the salt was still in place, then curling next to his warmth for a time, always painfully aware this could be the last time. And in the morning light, he rose again to continue the fight, and she watched at the cottage door as he left to rejoin his brothers-in-spirit in their battle. He hadn't even glanced at that dish on the table; it was as if he didn't even see it.

Somehow that added to the mystery, told her she needed to quickly deal with this problem. She would wait for their return, his return, but in the meantime, she had her work cut out for her.

"I wonder just who in the family would best be able to deal with it," she pondered, as she settled herself in to making some calls. The dish sat in the middle of the table, a mounded heap of salt, the white now turning a particularly virulent shade of green, with the edges of the pile bubbling slightly. 

Cally was the family expert on 'seeing', to be sure, at least in Meghada's generation, but it hadn't taken Cally's presence for Meghada to recognize what was on Goniff's wrist; it had only taken the object trying to exert its power over him. That meant either it was very, very old and extremely strong, or that her powers were growing, or it was because it was Goniff being used so. Possibly all three. A Dragon was strong, of course, and once she found her Lair, and started amassing her Treasure, it was said her strength grew rapidly stronger. Well, she'd had her Lair for some time, but her Treasure was newly come to her, not yet formally Claimed, but somehow she thought that might just be a formality not affecting the reality of it all. So, probably both had let her recognize that object of power. And she'd found she tended to recognize, react quite strongly to any threat to the slender Englishman.

She frowned, picturing it in her mind, but as if she was looking at it out of the corner of her eye, not straight on, careful not to let the image bespell her - "metal, not iron certainly, not bronze, tarnished silver, perhaps antimony, with a coating of some kind. Nasty 'taste' to its scent, arsenic in part, with something added? Those braids, those are human hair, and there's the stench of human blood as well. Nasty, all round." She ran through the names of those who might have an interest, a knowledge of such things, might be able to help her be rid of this, who might know how much damage could have been done. 

There were many names, but in the end, only one stood out, and she groaned, wishing it had been otherwise. Oh, she'd get help, but a discussion with THAT one was never particularly comfortable. She still remembered the last lecture she'd gotten and winced in anticipation. She'd never quite been forgiven for refusing the 'honor' of being the heir-apparent, still got the arch sly references even now. No, this wouldn't be comfortable, but maybe the lure of another exhibit for the Museum would be enough to keep the conversation from drifting onto uncomfortable ground.

She poured another cup of strong coffee, wishing for a strong drink instead, but knowing she needed to keep her wits firmly about her. Finally, with a crisp nod, she went to the pantry wall, depressed the small board indistinguishable from all the others, and watched as a panel slid down, revealing the radio set concealed within.

"D'Shala, I need to speak with the Grandmother; I believe I have another little trinket for her Museum." Meghada waited patiently, turning now and again to watch the green bubbles grow til they now covered the mound of salt; if they started to overflow the dish, she would have to move quickly. 

The strong, impatient voice on the radio brought her attention to the OTHER dangerous entity she was dealing with.

"Aye, Grandmother. Etruscan, from the looks of it. Nasty disposition, though it didn't fight when I removed it. I got the feeling it thought it could make me its next host; seems rather annoyed for that not to be the case." A thorough description of the object followed, the control it had exerted over Goniff, and a description of Meghada's actions. A brief pause while she listened, "salt; I thought it would disrupt the vibrations. But it's turning a bright lime green, with bubbles; they started out green, too, but are shifting to an olive brown and spreading. Of course . . ." and Meghada hurried to the kitchen, cautiously picking up the plate containing the seething mess, careful not to touch anything except the clean rim, and slid it into a big glass bowl she reserved for marinating. {"Have to get a replacement my next trip to London,"} she absently made a mental note, knowing she'd never use THIS one again. Reaching under the sink, she brought out the pickling vinegar and slowly, not letting it splash, poured it down the side of the bowl til the salt was totally submerged, placing a large plate on top. Considering, she paused, then sat a large tin of canned plums on top to weight it down, "just in case". 

She returned to the radio, but watched out of the corner of her eye, just to be sure nothing untoward happened with that covered bowl. "Aye, just as you said, Grandmother. They'll be here soon?"

"As soon as possible, child. In the meantime, watch the thing, but don't get too near. If it starts releasing vapor, you don't want to be breathing it in. I have just the container to store it it, heavy clear glass so it can be observed, sealed so it can't lure anyone else. Quite a prize, my dear; my thanks!" A note of deep satisfaction filled that voice.

She hesitated, since the Grandmother had seemed rushed, but she had to know, though she didn't like the worry, the concern she could hear in her own voice; showing weakness to the Grandmother was never a good idea for anyone, especially for one who had so vehemently denied the old woman something she wanted.

"I don't know how long it was on his wrist. Is there anything that needs to be done, anything I need to watch for, any residual ill effects?"

A breezy, off-hand, "I doubt it was there long; that bit of mischief likes to change ownership among the Outlanders as soon as it has caused trouble. Goes to one, creates trouble, puts out the call to someone else who's had contact with the first one, goes to that one, creates more mayhem, then moves on to someone - well, you get the picture. It likes to cause as much damage to as many as possible as quickly as it can, before someone becomes aware and puts a stop to it. No, I'd not waste my time worrying about it; expect he and whoever else it touched will have forgotten all about it by now; that does tend to happen, you know. Not really your problem, is it, anyway? You've contained it; we'll store it. The Outlanders could hardly ask more - our part is finished." 

Somehow that offhand answer didn't reassure Meghada, didn't really answer her question.

"Yes, but Goniff was terribly upset that he might have harmed me; I think I reassured him, but if there's anything lingering that could cause harm . . ."

And the scolding started, just as she'd known it would. "Fret, fret, fret! Are you SURE you are of the ru Dragan? Yes, I know that's what the Council declared, but somehow I don't remember the stories telling me the ru Dragan were this fretful! Absolute 'Nervous Nellie' you sound like! And did you skip some of your classes?? It doesn't leave memories behind, girl; don't you remember your studies??! Magical Creatures, Entities and Objects, 201, if I'm not mistaken! Must I remind you of everything?? What on earth is wrong with you these days?? I must say . . ."

Meghada winced; yes, she'd known she'd get twitted in one way or another; the Grandmother STILL hadn't forgiven her! The voice continued, "getting all upset about some Outlander, all worried . . . ". 

There was sudden silence, then a wicked chuckle from the radio, "oh, I see. That's the way of it, is it??! Hmmm. Perhaps I've stayed in the castle too long this time. Maybe it's time I paid a visit, got a glimpse . . ."

Meghada shuddered, and hastened to reassure her oldest living relative, "no, no, that's quite all right, Grandmother. We're on the go most all of the time, never could tell just when you'd catch me here, or him either. No, perhaps later, some other time, maybe after the war." {"Maybe never!!"} - though knowing that wasn't possible; that she'd have to have them meet eventually. {"Just, not anytime soon!"} She was pretty sure her nerves couldn't handle it right now!

The Grandmother laughed now, loud and hearty, "well, perhaps I'll just surprise you both some day."

Meghada gently disconnected the radio, stared at it for a moment as if IT were likely to start spewing green bubbles, swallowed heavily and returned to the kitchen.

"Talk about being caught between a rock and a hard place!" The mere thought of the ninety-plus year old Clan Matriarch showing up sometime to get a glimpse of Goniff made her stomach twitch. "It's not that she doesn't mean well, she DOES, of course. It's just that she thinks any situation is the better for her getting involved, especially when she doesn't think things are progressing quite so quickly as she'd like. Oh, Sweet Mother!" She sat down to impatiently await the transport team. Damn, she needed a drink!!

Meanwhile, on a submarine headed off to the coast of France, Garrison mused on the latest round of self-inflicted injuries, hoping they were at an end. {"Maybe we all just need to get more sleep!"}


End file.
